


Places in spaces in time in art

by oviparous



Category: Given (Anime), Given (Manga)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Canon Universe, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, First Time, Flashbacks, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Romance, Sex, Spoilers ahead for anime-only fans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26361163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oviparous/pseuds/oviparous
Summary: In the future, Mafuyu and Ritsuka are really, truly happy.Warnings:This entire thing is in Mafuyu's POV.Lots of mentions of Yuki.The future scenes are interspersed with a scene from the past (namely, our dudes' first time).There are mentions of almost every other character--they just don't appear. Except for Yayoi. (And Kedama.)Includes sex, but no graphic depictions.
Relationships: Satou Mafuyu/Uenoyama Ritsuka
Comments: 20
Kudos: 153





	Places in spaces in time in art

He wakes up to a world splintered by barcodes of orange and caramel; a second is spent to divorce himself from sleep, and he realises it’s just his hair. His bangs need trimming, he thinks as he reaches for Ritsuka’s hand under the covers. Maybe he can get Ritsuka to do it for him. Ritsuka’s better at it than he is.

Ritsuka stirs, but doesn’t open his eyes. “Try a sus-four there…” is what escapes his lips as his fingers curl around Mafuyu’s. The words are airy and laced with a dream.

To Mafuyu, it’s a bit of a song.

***

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” A pause. “I’ve done it before, so. Don't worry.”

He doesn’t say it to bruise. It still does, though. Mafuyu can see the vein pop in Uenoyama's neck. But Mafuyu knows it has to be said. This isn't a time for secrets, Mafuyu thinks, since they’re already on the verge of want, brimming over into need.

Even at this distance, their lips just a breath apart, Uenoyama’s retracting hand burning tracks on his skin, Mafuyu can read only jealousy. He wishes he were better at this. What else is Uenoyama feeling? Thinking? Mafuyu wants to know, but he’s afraid to ask. Why, though? Doesn’t he trust Uenoyama enough? Doesn't he trust himself enough, that he won't push Uenoyama away no matter what he hears?

He needs to say something, but the words don’t come.

“He’s always going to be a part of you.” Uenoyama steals the silence out from under him. Mafuyu doesn’t think he’s ever heard Uenoyama sound like this. Dread crawls over his skin, and Mafuyu desperately wants to touch like how they were doing just moments before, but he doesn’t.

Why is there so much room for fear?

“I’m not okay with it, but I’m not _not_ okay either,” says Uenoyama, a pink stain suffusing his cheeks. “Your past is yours, but you…”

It’s not like Uenoyama to leave a sentence unfinished, so Mafuyu waits.

Uenoyama tucks his chin into the pillow, then mumbles: “But you’re mine now, right?”

Mafuyu’s heart aches.

It’s not untrue. Most of him belongs to Uenoyama. He’s sure of it. In another time, though, it could’ve been all of him. But in another time, Mafuyu probably won't choose Uenoyama, because there wouldn’t be a need to.

They’d be strangers then.

Mafuyu’s heart aches.

***

Kedama is snoozing in the basket Ritsuka bought him for one of his birthdays. Recently he’s been needing naps soon after a long walk; he really isn’t a puppy anymore. Mafuyu wishes he had the time to take two short walks with him each day instead of one long one in the morning.

“Oh shit, _eggs_ ,” exclaims Ritsuka loudly from the kitchen, and Mafuyu watches as Kedama opens one eye, before deeming it nothing worth getting excited for. He surrenders himself to sleep once more.

Kedama’s really getting old.

“I told you when we left the store last night I had a feeling we forgot something.” Ritsuka appears in the doorway, brow furrowed.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to have eggs today,” says Mafuyu, shrugging on his down vest after having peeled off his hoodie. “Actually, we don’t have to have eggs every day?”

The look Ritsuka gives Mafuyu cows him a little; he holds up his hands in submission.

“Real men don’t skip their morning eggs,” scolds Ritsuka, and Mafuyu feels a laugh bubbling at the back of his throat.

***

It’s more of a touch than a kiss when Mafuyu prints his lips to the corner of Uenoyama’s mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Mafuyu’s the one saying it this time, and Uenoyama jerks his head up before he scrambles to prop himself up on his side, elbow digging into the mattress as he stares at Mafuyu, a frown creasing his features.

They're so close to doing it, but Mafuyu feels like he should let Uenoyama know he still has a way out. He doesn't have to share Mafuyu like this if he isn't ready to. It's Mafuyu's fault for clinging on to this much.

Uenoyama spends the better part of a minute gritting his teeth and grunting. Mafuyu reaches up to clap both his hands against Uenoyama’s cheeks. He hopes it doesn't sting.

“What are you doing?” cries Uenoyama, as Mafuyu squishes Uenoyama’s jowls with the heels of his hands.

“You do this to right your thoughts,” says Mafuyu, plainly. “Don’t you?” Mafuyu’s noticed, during Uenoyama's moments of reckoning. He probably doesn’t realise he does it.

“I—” Uenoyama splutters, his face redder than before. “What, you’re helping me out?”

Mafuyu nods. He stops squishing, choosing to run the pad of his thumb across one of Uenoyama’s cheekbones instead. He might not have the right words ready, but he knows where to place his affection.

The wind is knocked out of Mafuyu when Uenoyama collapses on him, his fingers locked tight on Mafuyu’s shoulders.

“Uenoyama-kun…?”

It can't be something easy to say, Mafuyu realises when he feels Uenoyama’s heartbeat racing ahead of his own. Mafuyu winds his arms around Uenoyama, wondering if it’s enough to do merely this.

He feels Uenoyama’s ribcage swell as he gets ready to speak.

“He can be a part of us too.”

Mafuyu’s eyes widen.

There has to be a space in Uenoyama’s heart that is meant for Mafuyu. It is not a lonely space. Summer is there, all the time. Summer, with its sticky heat and protracted days, its festivals and fireworks, its swarms of dragonflies and chirping cicadas carrying strange melodies Mafuyu has yet to learn. Summer, with all its promise of company. Mafuyu doesn’t want to assume it’s infinite, but it’s nice that it seems to be.

Mafuyu has a space in his heart that is reserved for someone, too. It is a space with no definite shape or size: some days it’s tiny, merely the breadth of a snowflake, and other days it’s big enough to collect an avalanche. It is a space that hurts, that loves, that struggles to remember, that tries to forget. But outside of that space—there is everything else. There are friends. There is music. There is himself. There is Uenoyama.

And Uenoyama is saying Mafuyu can come stay in his space with all of Mafuyu’s spaces, because his space is vast enough, deep enough, _resilient enough_ to accommodate all of Mafuyu's freighted ones—even the ones that can't spare any room for Uenoyama.

Mafuyu wants to make that space his home.

***

There’s a supermarket on the other side of the neighbourhood that’s open round-the-clock, but it’s a bit of a walk and in this cold, just for eggs, it doesn’t seem worth it; Ritsuka dithers briefly, then announces he’s going to take the car.

They’re in the red because they upgraded their other room into an actual soundproofed studio, and the first expense they decided to cut this month was for petrol. They don’t have to go on the road much for a while so they figured out they could save the few thousand yen. Their fuel tank hasn’t been topped up since Christmas; it’s already a couple of weeks into the new year.

“I’ll come with you,” says Mafuyu, reaching for the scarf that’s slouching on the backrest of his desk chair.

“No need. It’s just a tray of eggs. Besides, the tank’s already at empty—two people in the car’s just going to make it work harder.”

“I just remembered I have something to get,” answers Mafuyu, before looping the scarf around Ritsuka’s neck. “We won’t turn the heat on. It’ll be fine.”

“If the engine dies on our way there, it’s on you.”

Mafuyu trains a beady gaze on Ritsuka as he finishes tying the scarf. “You’re heavier than I am.”

“Oi.” Ritsuka looks offended.

“Muscles are heavy. It’s a compliment.”

Ritsuka rolls his eyes, then presses his palm into the small of Mafuyu’s back to bring him close enough for a peck on the lips, which is followed by three more.

Mafuyu is glad they can still afford this.

***

It’s just them and their breathing for a while, though Kedama is likely getting lonely outside the door since Mafuyu can hear the clicking of his claws on the floor as he patters about the corridor. Time to cut his nails, Mafuyu thinks, before shaking himself out of it. This isn’t a time to be thinking about grooming Kedama.

“It’s weird, though, isn’t it?” asks Mafuyu, clutching the fabric of the shirt that he’s lent Uenoyama, feeling how it’s stretched out across the expanse of his back.

“It’s been weird since the beginning,” says Uenoyama, his voice muffled by Mafuyu’s pillow. “And just so we’re clear, I’m not talking about having a threesome with a ghost, okay.”

A giggle rises out of Mafuyu in spite of himself; it’s cathartic, somehow, talking about Yuki like this, with Uenoyama. It’s brazen and ridiculous, and only possible because this boy in his arms is who he is—honest and brave and terribly, terribly special.

“It’s not the same, but,” Uenoyama pivots his head on his cheek, and his sigh tickles Mafuyu’s ear, making him shiver, “it’s kind of like my guitar.”

“What is?”

Uenoyama takes a while to respond. “Everything. You.”

“I’m like your guitar?”

“It used to be my dad’s.” Uenoyama hums, searching for the words. “It won’t ever stop being his guitar just because he gave it to me. He still says ‘how’s my guitar working for you’. Things like that. It feels completely natural when I hear him say that, because it _is_ his. It’s still his. It will always be his. But it’s also mine. It’s always going to be mine. We’re not sharing it, but we’re not keeping it from each other either. I know it’s not the same with what’s going on with you and me and that guy, but it’s the closest thing I have to understanding it.”

It may not be the same, but Mafuyu guesses salvation comes in many forms.

Mafuyu closes his eyes and angles his forehead against Uenoyama’s. “Okay,” he says, finding Uenoyama’s hand and bringing it up to rest against his heart, feeling a lot less afraid.

***

“Ah, you two,” comes a drawl, and Mafuyu turns to see Yayoi lifting a shopping basket out of the stack by the entrance. “What brings you to the fancier part of town?”

“Good morning, Onee-chan,” says Mafuyu with a wave, and Yayoi automatically reaches out a hand to muss up his hair in greeting. She then scowls at her brother, who's steadfastly choosing not to grant her a ‘good morning’, looking at her in indifference instead, obviously miffed at her comment about this being the fancier part of town.

It’s been years, but Mafuyu is still tirelessly impressed at how alike their faces are. They resemble each other more than they resemble their parents. That’s really something.

“We needed eggs, and the supermarkets in our _slum_ don’t open this early,” says Ritsuka, in the same drawl as his sister.

“ _Ritsuka_ needed eggs,” amends Mafuyu, politely.

Yayoi groans. “Oh, god. I know about this. It’s that bet with Akihiko, right?” Yayoi stares at Mafuyu with deadened eyes. “You spoil him, Mafuyu.”

Mafuyu takes one look at Ritsuka. “It’s funny to see them compete,” he says, and it earns him an affronted glare.

“How do _you_ know about it?” asks Ritsuka, turning to face Yayoi.

Yayoi gives a dismissive wave. “You learn a lot of things when you’re drinking buddies with Haruki. Anyway, if you need protein powder, I’d be more than happy to drop off this near-expired five-kilo bucket Kouji isn’t going to touch because he’s still making his way through the first one. It’s just sitting in my kitchen taking up space. Take it off my hands, please. I trip over it five times a day.”

Ritsuka has the decency to look grateful as Yayoi starts asking him what time he’ll be home today so she can swing by, and Ritsuka checks in with Mafuyu first before suggesting he can just follow her home after this to pick it up.

Mafuyu can’t pinpoint exactly when this little familial universe was built around him; it probably started sometime after high school when Yayoi was finally sure he wasn’t going to run off after breaking her brother’s heart and she’d offhandedly—and drunkenly—told Mafuyu she sees him as family now, and when he jokingly called her ‘Onee-chan’ she teared up and asked him to repeat it a few more times. Ritsuka has never commented on it. Mafuyu thinks he secretly enjoys it. They can give each other every possible cloying nickname—not that they’re the type of couple who do—but there’s nothing like your partner’s family cementing your status by letting you address them according to hierarchy.

“Onee-chan,” Mafuyu suddenly remembers how sick Yayoi was the last time they met, “are you feeling better?” They’d gone for _hatsumoude_ together on New Year’s Day, and Yayoi was feeling queasy all the way to the temple and back. Her prayer lasted barely five seconds before she had to go rest in the car.

It takes a moment for Yayoi to realise what Mafuyu is talking about, and she brightens. “Oh, yeah. I think I’m pregnant?”

Mafuyu and Ritsuka freeze, right in front of a shelf of pasta. Yayoi invites them to step to the side so she can grab a bag of penne.

“Ya-yayoi…” Ritsuka pinches the elbow of her coat sleeve, tugging on it. “Are you sure? Did you take a test?”

“Nope, too early,” she sings, examining the label on the pack of pasta. “If my period doesn’t come next week I’ll test, but right now it’s a toss-up between pregnancy and indigestion.”

Mafuyu doesn’t know a great deal about pregnancy, but apparently its symptoms are similar to indigestion. Okay. He’s not sure where to shelve this knowledge, however. It’s not like he needs it for future reference. Ritsuka, on the other hand, is looking antsy and bothered. Mafuyu can only guess why.

“Do mum and dad know?” Ritsuka trails after Yayoi as she moves on to look at pasta sauces. “Does Kouji-san know? Why is he still leaving a bucket of protein on the floor for you to trip over?”

“Mum and dad don’t know, Kouji was the one who suggested I might be pregnant, and would you please relax, I’m not suddenly some kind of porcelain doll just because I could be pregnant.”

Ritsuka opens his mouth to say something when the colour drains out of his face. “You went drinking with Haruki-san,” he says, raising an accusatory finger. “Even though you’re—”

“Have you never heard of a mocktail?” snaps Yayoi. “Seriously, Ritsuka, what is up with you?”

“I’m _worried_ , that’s what!”

Yayoi looks like she doesn’t know whether to rejoice at Ritsuka’s concern or punch him for insinuating that she isn’t being mature enough with this unconfirmed pregnancy, so she just stands there and huffs out a lecture about Ritsuka having to mind his own business. Mafuyu decides it’s time to step in.

“Let’s go get our eggs. Onee-chan, we’ll meet you at the entrance later. Text me?”

Yayoi gives a curt nod; Mafuyu hooks an elbow on Ritsuka’s arm and leads him away. He chances a look at Ritsuka; his expression is unreadable, but Mafuyu’s been with him long enough to sense there’s some kind of anticipation building within him.

“You okay?” asks Mafuyu, when they reach the corner that houses the eggs.

Ritsuka stops, then slaps his palms on both sides of his face. “Baby,” he utters.

“We don’t know yet,” says Mafuyu, patiently.

“I never thought she’d have children,” says Ritsuka.

“She _is_ married, you know.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to want children to get married.” Ritsuka’s made a fair point. He suddenly grasps Mafuyu’s shoulders, looking solemn. “If this is a baby.”

“Yes.”

“We have things to talk about.”

“Yes.”

“All of us.”

“Yes.”

“Kids with gay uncles are bound to get bullied in school.”

“No one has to know.” Mafuyu thinks Ritsuka is projecting way too far ahead, but he’s also glad he’s being included in the picture, so he’s not going to complain.

“This is not the time for a fitness challenge,” Ritsuka goes on.

“…Is there ever a time?”

Ritsuka bows his head, and his grip on Mafuyu’s shoulders tighten. “I thought my parents were never going to have grandchildren.”

It’s like an anvil to the skull, hearing this confession. Mafuyu is sorry he hadn’t picked up on it sooner. They’ve never really talked about it; the closest they’ve come to it was when Ritsuka did the whole coming-out-at-a-family-meeting-around-the-dining-table thing before he and Mafuyu moved in together, and he’d apologised to his parents for not continuing the family line or something like that—he’d given Mafuyu a summary of how it went down (not too badly, seeing how he and Yayoi had been dropping hints around their parents for years), but it wasn’t like Mafuyu was actually there.

Mafuyu takes Ritsuka’s hand off his shoulder and squeezes it. “If this is really a baby,” he says, “you know how things are going to turn out for us, right?”

Ritsuka looks up at Mafuyu. “What do you mean?”

Mafuyu shrugs. “You know I’m better with kids.”

Ritsuka’s jaw drops. “ _No._ ”

“As far as uncles go, you’ll be in second place,” Mafuyu continues, turning to reach for a tray of eggs. “Actually, third place, seeing how close Yatake-san and Onee-chan are to Haruki-san. And Haruki-san's already got nephews and nieces, so—way ahead of you.”

Mafuyu turns to see Ritsuka looking ashen and downcast, his eyes soulless. “I was just teasing,” says Mafuyu quickly, but the damage has been done.

“Third… place…” is all Ritsuka manages to say. Mafuyu gives his shoulder a comforting pat, and hands him the tray of eggs.

***

It occurs to Mafuyu quite belatedly, sometime between him peeling off the shirt that’s slightly too small for Uenoyama and smells every bit like himself (which is quite the turn on, in an odd, conflated way) and shucking off his own underwear, that when it comes to romance, Mafuyu has taken most of Uenoyama’s firsts.

Mafuyu doesn’t know if he can say he took Uenoyama’s first kiss, since technically, Uenoyama had kissed him. But he knows this is Uenoyama’s first relationship. Also this—this naked thing they’re doing—is making up his first time.

And, during moments like this when Mafuyu dares to hope, he thinks he could be Uenoyama’s first love.

“Sorry,” mutters Uenoyama, pitching his face past Mafuyu’s ear into the pillow for the twentieth time. “Is it - is it normal to feel this nervous?”

Mafuyu pokes at Uenoyama’s shoulder relentlessly, waiting for him to look over before he speaks. “I’m nervous too.”

Uenoyama offers up the driest laugh in his repertoire. “ _You’re_ nervous?”

“Is that a surprise?”

Seconds lapse before Uenoyama says, grudgingly: “It’s not your first time.”

But experience has _nothing_ to do with why Mafuyu is feeling this way. The reason is so obvious that it seems absurd Uenoyama isn’t picking up on it, especially when Mafuyu feels like his embarrassment is amplified by the smallness of his bed, the weight of this human lying on top of him.

“It’s my first time with you,” whispers Mafuyu, before shyly touching his fingertips to Uenoyama’s jaw.

Uenoyama mashes his face into the pillow once more, his ears turning an impossible shade of red.

It’s not that Uenoyama hasn’t taken any of Mafuyu’s firsts, Mafuyu thinks as they kiss a little needier than before. After all, when it comes to music, Uenoyama has taken most of Mafuyu’s firsts, hasn’t he? He was the first person to make Mafuyu even think about playing the guitar. He was the first person to write Mafuyu a song. He was the first person to ever invite Mafuyu to make music together with.

It is in this moment that Mafuyu realises those experiences weren’t _taken_ by Uenoyama.

They were _given_.

“Can I - can I call you ‘Ritsuka’?” pants Mafuyu, as Uenoyama’s mouth finds a spot on his neck that sparks a jolt of pleasure straight through him.

Uenoyama stills, his breath hot on Mafuyu’s skin.

“Must you?” he finally asks.

“I want to.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“I want to.”

“You…” Uenoyama’s groan is one of despair and resignation, and Mafuyu takes it as his cue to card his fingers through his hair and call his name.

***

They come home with eggs, Yayoi’s thorn-in-the-flesh bucket of protein, and a bunch of white freesias that were on sale at the supermarket because one of the stalks is wilting. Mafuyu hums a tune as he opens the fridge to store the half of the eggs that Ritsuka's not using for breakfast, and Ritsuka asks him why he bought flowers.

“They're for Yuki,” says Mafuyu, settling an egg into the holder in the door of the fridge. 

Ritsuka blinks. “It’s the twenty-first already?” He checks his phone. “It’s not. It’s the seventeenth.”

Mafuyu nods. “Hiiragi and Shizu-chan can’t make it on the twenty-first.”

“Why do I feel you guys get less and less serious about Yuki’s death anniversary every year?” Ritsuka picks up the bunch of flowers and shoots Mafuyu a look of disdain. “It’s bad enough these are from the supermarket, but they’re discounted - oh, shit, this one’s dying, _Mafuyu_ —”

“Yuki would’ve found it funny,” says Mafuyu, emptying his voice of any levity. “Promise.”

Ritsuka sets the flowers very gently on the counter. “Okay,” he sighs.

It had snowed that day.

Mafuyu was rushing from the station to the studio because his train got delayed due to the snow and they’d booked the space for only three hours. When he got to the studio, he saw Ritsuka leaning against the doorjamb of their booth, looking pensive.

“Listen,” was all he said, holding out an arm to keep Mafuyu standing in the corridor, and it took Mafuyu a while to pick the music out of the cacophony of lyrics and riffs and bass beats that all the other booths were sending into the air—someone was singing his song. Their first song. The song he wrote about Yuki.

And all Mafuyu could feel, as he stood there breathing on his hands so chilled from the cold, was joy.

It’s not something he can explain, but looking back Mafuyu thinks the only reason why he didn’t feel anything else was simply because time is a powerful antidote, and he'd grown up.

He’s never going to forget Yuki, and he doesn’t want to, but for years he'd felt like there was a part of him that needed to forgive Yuki for leaving him. It was convoluted and unjustifiable—who was he to forgive Yuki, when he hadn’t sought forgiveness himself? How could he demand something so impossible of someone so gone?

Mafuyu had buried this guilt in the lowest fathoms of his heart, hoping it would stay there. It wasn’t until he heard the song in someone else’s voice that he was reminded of that guilt, but by that time, it wasn’t there anymore.

Memories. Music. Laughter. Love. Those were all that remained, and they were why Mafuyu could find the courage to gather Hiiragi and Shizusumi and tell them he wanted to do something for Yuki’s death anniversary. It was quite reckless, and Hiiragi had exploded in the most predictable way, but that night they met at Yuki’s grave, huddled together for warmth, and talked until the sky turned light.

That happened the year Yuki was supposed to turn 21.

Now, when Mafuyu thinks about Yuki, most of what he feels for him is gratitude. He thinks that’s why he can celebrate Yuki like this, along with Hiiragi and Shizusumi and, in part, Ritsuka—there’s a lot that wouldn’t have happened if Mafuyu hadn’t lost Yuki, and while he isn’t thankful that Yuki had to go, he wants to believe Yuki has been the force behind everything he’s been given.

***

“Tell me if it hurts.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, but tell me if it does.”

“It’s not going to hurt. You’re going so slowly.”

“Are you _sure_ it doesn’t hurt?”

“Uenoyama-kun.” Mafuyu grabs the sides of Ritsuka’s face, perhaps a little harder than necessary. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Ritsuka blushes as he contemplates something. “Are we back to ‘Uenoyama-kun’ now?” he asks eventually.

Mafuyu is about to tell him he’s only going to call him ‘Uenoyama-kun’ in front of other people, but something in Mafuyu gives right at that very moment and his head lolls to the side, his hands slip from Ritsuka's face; he closes his eyes, feeling his lips part in a silent cry as Ritsuka _fits_.

“Shit, does it hurt?!”

It’s a wonder how Ritsuka has managed to stay this hard with all the second-by-second confirmations of Mafuyu’s well-being; Mafuyu feels incredibly loved, but also fairly annoyed. When he feels comfortable enough to speak he splays a hand on Ritsuka’s chest and meets his eyes. 

“You will know if it hurts, because I will tell you.” Mafuyu fists his hand over Ritsuka's heart. "I will tell you, Ritsuka."

Ritsuka’s gaze softens. “Okay. Sorry.”

Mafuyu shakes his head. “Don't be. I don’t have the best track record when it comes to telling you things.”

“Yeah, but you’ve gotten so much better,” says Ritsuka quietly, his lips curving in a smile, and Mafuyu folds his fingers behind Ritsuka’s neck to drag him down into a kiss, before telling him to please move his hips a little faster.

***

_Ritsuka doesn’t fit into a song anymore_ , Mafuyu thinks, when it strikes him that it doesn’t have to be one.

He’s been writing lyrics for so long that sometimes he forgets he has the option of using his vocabulary for something else. He’s currently faced with the urge to document as much as he can about Ritsuka, mainly because he wants a living, palpable record to exist long after they’re gone. Maybe it’s due to the prospect of posterity—not exactly their own, but family is family—or maybe it’s just the way Mafuyu heart feels full on days like this, when Ritsuka has to share so much of Mafuyu with someone else. Mafuyu truly sees the value in the project: an archive of Uenoyama Ritsuka, and everything he’s said that’s helped Mafuyu love.

“‘He can be a part of us’,” says Mafuyu out loud, tapping the words into the notes application of his phone as he swivels in his desk chair.

“Hm?” Ritsuka looks up from brushing Kedama’s coat.

“I think that’s what you said about Yuki.” Mafuyu pauses. “Wasn't it when you lost your virginity?”

Calmly, Ritsuka puts the brush down, orders Kedama off his lap and onto the sofa, walks up to Mafuyu, and raises his arm to land a half-hearted chop right down the middle of Mafuyu’s head. It doesn’t hurt at all. Ritsuka never hurts anyone physically, not even when they horse around. It was one of the first things Mafuyu noticed about him back when they were in high school; Itaya and Ueki sometimes played rough, but Ritsuka was always careful not to go overboard. It wasn’t limited to Mafuyu, of course. At school, Ritsuka was known for being someone who had an attitude, but was also kind. And he was kind to _everybody_. For better, for worse, his popularity with the girls (and some boys) helped to fill a lot of seats at Given's shows.

Mafuyu thinks Ritsuka’s universal gentleness is one of his most attractive traits. He doesn’t think he’ll like Ritsuka as much if he was only nice to him. Of course, with Mafuyu, Ritsuka is more particular about how he expresses his affection: in all the years they’ve been together Ritsuka has always treated Mafuyu like he’s something precious. Like he’s something worth protecting. Without Ritsuka, Mafuyu doesn’t think he could be this sure he is all of those things.

Being with Ritsuka gives him more reason to love himself.

“Could you trim my bangs after I come home tonight?” asks Mafuyu, as his fringe curtains his eyes.

Ritsuka takes his chop off Mafuyu’s head, then goes on to ruffle his hair. “Sure.”

“Thanks. I’m glad we met.”

“Because I’m good at cutting your hair?”

“That too.” Mafuyu gets up from his chair and sticks out his arms, beckoning; obediently, Ritsuka steps into the embrace.

“You’re writing another song about Yuki?” asks Ritsuka.

“No.” Mafuyu nestles his face into the crook of Ritsuka’s neck. “It’s not a song.”

“…It’s a book about Yuki?”

Mafuyu laughs. “I’m writing something about someone else.”

“Mm.” Ritsuka presses his nose into Mafuyu’s hair and inhales. “I see.”

Mafuyu waits for the question of ‘who’ or ‘what', but it never comes. He prods Ritsuka’s stomach with a finger, then looks up at him, peering past his too-long bangs. Ritsuka slides his palm across Mafuyu’s forehead and flips his hair back, keeping his hand flush against Mafuyu’s hairline as they exchange smiles.

Ritsuka used to depend on questions to know Mafuyu’s answers. Time has relieved him of that.

It’s simultaneously fearsome and beautiful.

“I was your first love, right?” asks Mafuyu.

Ritsuka’s lips twitch, and he taps Mafuyu lightly on the nose. “Don’t get too full of yourself.”

“Were you ever sad that you aren't my first love?”

“I wasn’t sad. Vexed, maybe.” Ritsuka cracks a smile. “It made me want to be your next one.”

“Just the next one?” Mafuyu shakes his head. “You should’ve aimed higher.”

“What else was there to aim for?” Ritsuka looks genuinely puzzled.

Mafuyu frames Ritsuka’s face with his hands and runs his thumbs across his cheekbones. He smiles at Ritsuka, taking in his fondness, his being, his presence. 

“My last.”

**Author's Note:**

> I kept the timeline for the future relatively loose, mainly because I wanted to keep the entire atmosphere of the fic a little blurry, like a photo with lots of bokeh. Artistic touch or whatever you call it. :)
> 
> This is my first and last fic for Given, I think. I wrote for 15 straight hours and finished it in a day. Catharsis!
> 
> I owe a lot to Kizu Natsuki and Given for a great number of personal matters - Given was life-changing for me - so I'm glad I got to contribute to fandom in some way with this.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. If you have time, please feel free to celebrate Given in the comments! I welcome your thoughts about the series and my fic!


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